Oleg nods. "You've all more than earned it. As for us, well not much news other than that things are finally feeling safe around here. No sign of the bandits. I'm still offering a reward for a tatzlwyrm head in good condition and there is still a bounty out on Tuskgutter. Other than that business as usual."
Once the conversation wraps up with the Levetons the group approach the forlorn looking priest who quickly gathers himself up and dusts himself off. "Oh! Yes um h-hail adventurers." He says in a gruff voice giving a half-hearted smile and a respectful bow. "I, was hoping we would meet soon! My name is Jhod Kavken, a devout servant of Erastil and a... fellow traveler. I-I was hoping I might requisition your services... Have you, perchance, happened upon an area blessed by Old Deadeye? One... with a bear by any chance?" The man looks at all the adventurers beseechingly.
“A bear? ‘All black and brown and covered in hair?’” Lina asks, playfully recalling a popular song. “I’m afraid not, that I can think of, though there are some elk in the grasslands to the northwest of here.”
She is uncomfortably aware of the dust of the road (or lack of one), but soldiers on bravely. “I’m more of a green and growing thing sort of girl-” Perhaps a smear of dirt or two is only fitting, in the end. “Are you hoping to do some hunting on the way to…?”
She dangles the invitation to divulge a destination, if Jhod’s a traveller. “Or what sort of services are you looking for?”
Brental relaxes into his own smile as Oleg does. He looks over at Meneas, whose hood is down, and nods. They were accomplishing missions left and right, even if there were setbacks.
"You're a good man, Oleg Leveton, and we're happy to help. I'm sure that Lana will be happy." He pauses and leans in conspiratorially as he sees her coming back out. "The ring has even more stories to it now. I'm not much of a storyteller, but if you want the tale Lina may have all the proper embellishments."
As Svetlana returns with their reward, Brental exchanges more glances with the others. A reward, addressed to most of their original group.
Brental looks between Meneas, Lina, and Morof. "As far as I'm concerned, Morof, you have an equal share in everything that we have received today. You may have only joined us recently, but I would be a spider-chewed skeleton at the bottom of that tunnel were it not for your quick thinking."
The tatzwyrms had been mentioned before, but this was the first that Brental recalled a request to hunt one. Tuskgutter, too, seemed a new bounty. Had he just missed their mention the first time? In either case, both bounties were something to discuss with the rest of the group.
Before the Levetons return inside, Brental brings out the piece of paper he acquired earlier in the day from the bandit skeleton's shoe. "A bit of a reach, perhaps, but do you recognize this tree from anywhere in the lands nearby?"
***
Brental agrees with Meneas' two suggestions. A trip to meet this Bokken would probably be a nice diversion while they recovered: hopefully there were no gremlins, shadowy birds, or serial killers reincarnated as kobolds hanging around an alchemist's hut.
As for this Erastilian cleric...looking for a holy area of Old Deadeye? Brental had sensed a divine boon for much of the last week since they had saved the elk family. Could this be related? As Lina shares a bit about the elk briefly, Brental shakes his head and adds a bit. "We managed to protect the elk from some ne'er-do-well poachers, but that's the only sign we have seen of your god in this area. Are you looking for this blessed area, or do you want us to accompany you there for some purpose?"
Oleg looks puzzled at the drawing for a moment scratching his whisker-covered chin. "Now, I can't be certain. I've never seen it before... but it looks to me like a landmark that's been described to me by hunter and trappers passing through here. It's about a four hours ride to the south-east if I recall. I'd be careful though were I you. Bandits have been spotted in those parts of late. Especially after poor Davik Nettles met his fate to those brigands not far from there. You know they're out for blood."
....
The Erastilian cleric waves his hand dismissively at Brental and Lina's commentary on the elk. "Yes, yes I'm certain saving them was all well and good, the Hunter's blessings be upon you and all that but... if you haven't yet seen this shrine I would like to make a proposal to you adventurers. An even exchange of services. My healing arts in exchange for the shrine's guardian... this creature all black and brown and covered in hair as you've said... I need you to kill it. Simple as that." The cleric looks sternly into each party member's eyes being sure they understood his request.
....
Opening the letter it reads as follows.
"Good day my friends!
Or should I call you adventurers?
We've only met the once so I suppose I should just say adventurers for now!
Anyways, I hope this letter finds you well!
We have heard much of your progress here in Restov and, might I just say, even Lady Jamandi looks pleased with the progress report Mr. Garess has sent in! I suspect she may even be proud of you, I know I am!
I've been thinking of ways to assist you further in your endeavors as it is sounding more and more like what you are doing in the Stolen Lands is of far greater importance than I was originally led to believe. I can't go into detail but it seems as though things are really ramping up here, tensions between noble houses, and excitement about what clearing the Greenbelt will mean for the people of Brevoy and the upcoming... I've said to much. I'm so sorry! I always do this!
The package that arrived with this letter may seem empty but I'm sure you'll soon fill the thing with all kinds of wonderous oddities! It's probably dumb but I hope you like it! I've saved up for some time to be able to afford it for you all so please use it in good health.
I hope the potion I gave you earlier was of use! Or, should I be hoping you haven't found the need to use it? Regardless, I just wanted to say great work so far and good luck on the rest of your adventure!
Sincerely,
Riftun"
|
Morof hears the Kavken priest and thinks hard on where this bear of his might be. He thinks of temples he read about, common places where bears dwindle, even the landscape, trying to come up with a direction to go.
Whenever he gets a time alone with any of the others, he asks "So... who are Signy and Wisp? Are they friends? And... who is Riftun?"
Later, he blushes bright red as Brental talks about his help with the spiders. This half-elf clearly hasn't been praised of late. He mumbles something that sounds like "thanks", and spends some time thinking what ever he would spend that kind of money on.
Meneas remains mostly quiet during the discussion with Jhod, his expression a mix of puzzlement and mild alarm. Well, I really hope that the Stag God isn't looking at us. That would indicate there's something very serious going on.
"Killing a bear? A strange request. Has the bear done anything to warrant killing?" He asks finally.
"Signy and Wisp were also chartered adventurers - our original companions. They were abducted by the raven you saw in the First World. We're... not sure what happened to them there." Meneas says, his expression glum.
"Riftun, though, is a servant over in Restov, to the swordlord who commissioned our exploration. He helped us out when we first set out." A slight smile lights his face. "But it seems he's doing well, if he can send us something like this... whatever it is."
After a moment, he realizes something. "Right, weren't you poisoned, Brental? I still have that potion which could get you back to yourself." He pulls out the potion in question.
The balding man sighs with frustration at Meneas' questioning. "It's a bear how should I know? It probably has eaten some people or something, it's a bear after all. All I know is that the Stag God wants it dead and who are you or I or anyone to question the will of the gods?! Now will you help me or not? It really is a very simple task you needn't overcomplicate it as such. I could explain this to the children I taught back in Galt, and they wouldn't have given me any lip back." the wrinkles on the man's forehead deepen as he seems to grow more cross with you. Like a strict old school teacher not used to anything other than people agreeing to his every request.
Brental can almost hear Riftun's voice through his writing. He will have to be sure to write him back a nice thank you letter. He also explains what the bag can do: that it holds an extradimensional space to lighten the load that they have been putting on their horses as of late. About 250 pounds worth of storage.
As for the poisoning, Brental nods.
"Riftun's restorative will certainly come in handy, but I think a day and night of rest should restore me to my usual strength. Let's hold it for when we are in dire straits."
***
Brental raises his brow not merely at Jhod's request, but his manner and tone. Weren't clerics usually a bit more...tactful than this? Granted, the people that Brental knew who worshipped Old Deadeye tended to be serious in this manner, so it wasn't entirely surprising. But as for questioning the will of the gods...well, that was part and parcel of why Brental followed the Green Faith more than hewing to any specific deity. He respects many of the gods, including Erastil, but with a pantheon that all of their own whims and desires from Shelyn to Abadar to Urgathoa, the "will of the gods" was not some monolithic edict. And Brental could think of many stories of old heroes communining with their gods and asking questions.
All that to say--the Erastilian seems exasperated.
"I share Meneas' concern and question. Erastil is an honorable, noble god, so I can't imagine his desires are frivolous. I honor the art and practice of the Hunt. But we are not mercenaries who will do a task with no questions. If we have questions, it is because we are trying to understand the nature or your request. A good hunter learns about their prey before they seek it, lest they end up in the beast's gullet. If we will be benefiting from your healing arts, I would rather avoid unnecessary pain on the way there."
Brental shrugs and looks nervously at his companions. "So rather than give you lip, I mostly want to know what you know of the bear and where you suspect its den, this sacred place of Erastil, to be?"
It sounds like a simple enough task to Lina, though an odd one from an Erastilian. They tend to be a bit set in their ways for Lina’s liking, so she’s not really spoken with many, but she was under the impression that they often got along well with druids, so why not just … placate the guardian somehow?
“Gone feral, then, I suppose,” she shrugs. It’s no skin off her back – unless something goes dreadfully wrong and she gets too close and into the bear’s claws – so she’s willing to keep an eye out for this shrine as the adventurers continue their explorations. She adopts what she hopes is a mollifying tone as she chimes in, “As Brental said, do you have an idea of where this shrine is from here? We can certainly watch for it as we map the Narlmarches, though we still have to decide which way we’re to set out next. We’ll let you know when we find and deal with it.”
Unfortunately, she's been far too flippant to begin with, and she ends up digging herself deeper with every word. She's in earnest, but she sounds, and drifts airily away, like every stereotype of a frivolous elf one might imagine.
* * *
Afterwards, she relaxes a bit while everyone considers their options for how to proceed. She smiles at Riftun’s message, remembering the young aide fondly. That’s a kind soul, certainly, and Lady Aldori’s lucky to have them.
"At any rate, I thought we should consult with each other to decide where to go next, and what to do there. This Jhod Kavken says he has a job for us, and while I share some of Oleg's skepticism, we," the knight looks at Brental and Lina, "managed to catch some poachers who were hunting elk earlier, and I believe that there may be a connection. There's also Bokken, as Svetlana said, who is apparently nearby - if Morof and Lina want to pursue some of that."
He looks from one to the next. "Thoughts? Opinions? Ideas?"
She turns her mind to what Oleg said about the sketch Brental found on the body in the spider’s lair, and compares that with her vague sense of the lay of the land. As always, it is the rivers that allow Lina to orient herself. “If that bandit tree’s to the south-east, I think we might find it if we visit Bokken, and then if we head out towards the Shrike, that should take us through the eastern limits of the area covered by our charter as well. We could turn back inland at the Tuskwater, and so to the forests where we might find this bear and a tatzlwyrm.”
The witch considers everyone’s condition, and adds, “I think spending a day here to rest and resupply would be ideal. We could just prepare and burn through some spells tomorrow morning, but that might limit our options if we need them later in the day, and, besides, I have some ideas for the bug parts we collected.”
Jhod scratches away at the wispy strands that remain of his brunette hair and groans again in frustration. "Very well, very well then! I must confess you raise a fair argument druid. I must admit I usually find your kind to flighty and detached from society but at least we can share our ideals on the importance of the sacred hunt and the sustenance it provides our families."
The cleric takes a deep breath settling himself. "I'm afraid I don't have much more information for you. I know only that the beast is somewhere here in the Greenbelt. And that it is angry, very angry. Quite unnaturally so, to the point I suspect it to be in some kind of torment though I could see no wound... Other than that all I can tell you is that the shrine appeared quite overgrown so look for an area overrun by nature and you should find the prey of this hunt young elf and aasimar." He looks around at you all exhausted. "I just... I need this done... the quicker the better. I can hardly bare it anymore."
After mercifully removing her obnoxiously perky self from Jhod’s presence and bouncing a barrage of ideas off the other adventurers, Lina wanders off to see if she can scare up the tools she needs to work on a few things.
In the first place, she tries to find the best tools Oleg might have on hand that she can use to shape and fit the tick chitin from the mite leader’s pet for a spearhead.
Beyond that, apart from a few adjustments for a better fit, she would dearly love to resole – sort of – her fancy new boots. It will take a light touch, but it will be good practice for when she tries her own hand at outright magical crafting herself, and for now all she wants to do is nudge her new boots’ magic to accommodate a restyling, not bind on another effect. So, she goes rummaging for cobbler’s tools as well.
If she can, she’ll set to work on the boots right away, but leaves putting together a chitinous spear for the morrow. And to round off her frenetic activity, she devotes her evening to seeing if Morof would be willing to exchange notes on a few spells that interest her.
"An angry bear." Meneas muses. "In a temple to the Stag God." He flexes his fingers idly. "Well, I suppose we could do as Morof suggests. Wasn't that also the direction of the tatzlwyrms were? We could head over there and get rid of them, as well."
Despite her penchant for affecting a certain languor, when Lina gets excited about something, it becomes very obvious indeed. Through the rest of the afternoon, evening, and the following morning, she’s a flurry of activity frequently punctuated by murmurs of delight, and the others might well be forgiven if they quietly decide to hide the tea and/or coffee from the witch when she’s like this.
Even before the day is out, she’s managed to restyle her boots to meet her needs suit her foibles, their magic lending confidence to her awl, needle, and tacks, and by early the next afternoon, she’s experimentally twirling a new short spear pointed with a carefully-shaped tip formed from giant tick chitin. A small, dangerous smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as Lina keeps her eyes on the barb – she has no particularly relevant aptitude for either anatomy or zoology, but she has an unexpected sense for how most weapons might work. This one, she knows, with the tiny jagged teeth just on the edge of visibility along the otherwise smooth edges of the blade, can open a bloodthirsty wound if it lands just right.
She rests the thing on her shoulder and saunters over to find the others once she’s satisfied with how the weapon feels in her hands. Her smile broadens, apologetic, and there’s still a smear of ink on her cheek from her efforts at working out her own way of working some of the spells Morof’s able to explain to her. “Sorry for being so distracted. I thought I’d hurry so we can get back to our explorations quickly. I think I’m ready as soon as we make sure we’re not forgetting anything else we need. More rations, in case we’re too busy to forage or hunt, perhaps most of all?”
"I must admit I usually find your kind to flighty and detached from society..."
"I can hardly bare it anymore."
Brental tries to not let himself be bothered by the priest's gruff nature, but he certainly takes a disliking to the man the more he talks. Still, his tale rouses some curiosity and sympathy in the druid.
"After we resupply here, we will set out for another expedition. As I am mapping the area, we will look carefully for this shrine and see to the bear's final rest."
***
Brental completely agrees with the rest of the group's assessment of an effective, efficient travel plan, along with the additional day of rest here. Besides, they were still gathering intelligence on the Stag Lord's movements, so it was not yet time to make a move against him. Attending to these other tasks seems reasonable. Besides, they were likely to run into more bandits along the way, so they weren't really putting off their primary task.
***
While Lina and Morof trade spells and Lina sets to work with a set of tools, Brental busies himself making some copies of the maps and gazetteers that he has been drawing up over the last week. He offers a free copy of all of his materials to Oleg and Svetlana before considering a possible business deal with them.
"Do you think that there would be any business selling these to travelers to the area? As we continue to deal with local problems, we will hopefully draw more visitors. I'm not done yet, clearly, but I aim to completely map the area."
Brental increasingly recognizes that what they are doing here may be costly, and so having some capital coming in through something he is already doing may be helpful. And if people are willing to pay, then why not?
After consulting with the rest of the group, Brental decides to use most of the trading credit to request a curative wand similar to the one that they had brought with them, but fully charged.
He also makes a point to ask Oleg about "poor Davik Nettles". Who was he, and what happened to him?
***
In between making copies of the maps, Brental also consults his linguist's codex. Perhaps some more elemental languages would be helpful to learn. He works on studying Auran and Terran.
Finally, Brental sets to work writing a few letters: first, a response to Riftun (which he offers to show his companions before sending), and second a missive to the Oakstewards. That one, of course, is secret.
Everything proceeds relatively calmly for the next few days as the adventurers rest their laurels with only minor heckling from Jhod who takes every opportunity to remind them all of the urgency of his quest.
Over that time Svetlana provides many succulent meals for the party to enjoy free of charge. Morof also has the opportunity to meet up with the morose, though strikingly handsome, captain of the guard Kesten Garess and the young Vlad, a bandit turned indentured servant/apprentice at the trade post who has been taking care of odd jobs around the area in penance for his crimes.
Oleg buys what the party puts up for offer at the standard rate and sends out word for the need of a wand of cure light wounds which arrives just before the party departs. He then cones to an agreement with Brental that he will buy the maps and gazetteers from the aasimar at a price of 50 gold each, and that he has rights to reporduce these maps and gazetteers on his own after pirchase. Oleg also divulges a bit more about this Davik Nettles character when the party are away from their tasks.
"Ol' Davik? Aye, he was a curmudgeonly engineer... of Brevic origin I believe. Minded his own with his three slavering hounds to the south-east where he managed a rope bridge he built across the Shrike. Made a pretty copper off it too as he had a monopoly on the only crossing point in the Kamelands. So if you wanted over you had to pay his toll..."
"As for what happened... Well I weren't there for it but they say that he didn't take too kindly to the Stag Lord comin' about demanding tribute for protection and sicked his dogs on the man!" Oleg snickered. "Wish I had been there to see that! Can you imagine? The big bad Stag Lord running scared of a few mutts! Musta been a sight! ... As you can imagine Stag Lord didn't take too kindly to this and came back, killed the mutts, burned his house down, destroyed the bridge and drowned the man in the river. At least, that's what Happs would brag about to get us to comply."
....
Time passes by and after two days the party is ready to head out once again. They are wished well by those in the trading post as they make their way east.
In about two hours they arrive at a small mud hut with an odor surrounding it that is completely caustic in nature. The smell assaults the senses and the horses are neverous to approach though they do eventually.
The party dismount and don't even get a chance to announce their presence before a pale, scraggly haired old man with wild eyes bursts out of the hut and practically screams at them, flecks of spittle spraying forth from between his missing teeth. "AYE?! WHACHU WANT?!" He slurrs.
"Hello! You're Bokken, right?" Meneas calls back. "We're here from Oleg and Svetlana - adventurers. I'm called Meneas, and these are my companions, Morof, Brental, and Lina." He indicates each one with a wave of a gloved hand, before allowing the others to speak - he has the least investment in Bokken's knowledge, after all.
Brental's eyes widen at both Bokken's appearance and demeanor--about what he expected from the description given, but still a surprise--and is happy that Meneas takes the lead.
"The Levetons told us that you deal with various potions, herbs, and other reagents. We hoped to purchase some from you, or trade for your services if you'd rather that."
Lina instantly resolves to be marginally more dignified when her croneing comes in a few centuries, with less screaming and more mysterious chuckles – but, fine, a fair bit of cackling too.
“We’re relatively new to the area, and would appreciate any suggestions as to what sorts of herbs we could find around here,” she says politely. “Don’t worry – we have at least an idea of what we’re doing, so we won’t overharvest. But we’re headed south anyway, so if there’s something out of your way that we could look into for you, we’d be glad to, one –”
She remembers Morof also has an interest in that line. “–er, two herbalists to another. Also, if you happen to also work with animal components, we’ve some whiptail centipede blood that I’m sure a more confident potionmaker than I am could do something interesting with.”
She hopes flattery, and offering a generous rate for the bug juice (since she doubts she or any of the others will have much use for it anytime soon), will establish friendly terms.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"EH WHAT'S THAT?!" the old man scowls and hobbles forward towards the group. "I MAY BE OLD BUT I AIN'T BROKEN! I'LL BE MORE THAN HAPPY TA SHOW YA IF'N YA WANNA SCRAP YOUNG MAN!" The elderly gentleman puts up his dukes and squares up to Meneas rather comedically before he turns his attention towards Brental his head cocked in apparent confusion.
"POTIONS AN' HERBS YOU SAY?! THAT I CAN DO BUT IT'S PRONOUNCED HERBS NOT HERBS WHIPPERSNAPPER... REGENTS THOUGH... I CAN'T SELL YA THAT! ONE WOULD IMAGINE YA'D HAVE TO UNDERGO SOME SORT OF EPIC QUEST OR SERIES OF QUESTS IN A WILD AN UNKNOWN LAND, PERHAPS SOLVING A FEW MYSTERIES AND EVEN OVERTHROWING AN EVIL REGENT OR TWO TO DO THAT! ALL I'D HAVE TO SAY IS GOOD LUCK! HA!" Bokken scoffs shouting every word at an unreasonable volume until he notices Lina, apparently for the first time.
"Oh, a lady." he suddenly mumbles quitely straightening himself up and taking a moment to literally lick his hand and use it to smooth his scraggly grey hair back and adjust an imaginary bow tie. He takes a deep breath and then out of nowhere starts shouting again. "OH WAIT I'M GAY!" he musses his hair back up and throws the imaginary bow tie on the ground stomping it into the earth.
"IF'N YOU'RE LOOKIN' FOR POTIONS I GOT 'EM! POTIONS TO CURE YOUR WOUNDS, POTIONS TO MAKE YOU HARD TO HIT, POTIONS TO MAKE YOU SMALL, POTIONS TO MAKE YOU BIG, EVEN POTIONS TO MAKE YOU 'BIG' EH? EHHH?!" He nudges Brental and waggles his fuzzy eyebrows wildly then huffs. "WHAT?! IT'S PERFECTLY NATURAL FOR MEN OUR AGE! NO NEED TO GET ALL EMBARRASSED!"
Bokken then saunters up to Lina and gestures demandingly. "WELL THEN LET'S SEE IT! THE CENTIPEDE BLOOD OF COURSE! IF IT'S GENUINE I'LL PAY TOP GOLD FOR IT!" When Lina produces the vials of blood the man dips a finger in and sucks on it befor smiling and displaying his many missing or yellowed teeth. "I CAN'T TASTE NOTHIN' NO MORE BUT I RECOGNIZE THE CONSISTENCY I DO! THAT'S GENUINE AND I'LL PAY YOU WELL FOR IT!"
He then wrinkles his already considerably wrinkled brow and scratches with some level or irritation, much like a stray dog. "IF'N YOU'RE LOOKIN' FOR WORK OR TRADE THOUGH I CAN MAKE YA A DEAL... CAN'T HARDLY TASTE NOTHIN' ANYMORE IN ME OLD AGE. SVETLANA, THE DEAR WOMAN, PREPARES SOME MEALS FOR ME WHEN I COME TO TRADE. ONLY THING I CAN REALLY MANAGE TO KEEP DOWN. BUT THEY'VE RUN OUTTA THE SECRET INGREDIENT. FANGBERRIES! TOO INTENSE FOR THE NORMAL PALETTE THEY SAY BUT IT'S ONE OF THE LAST THINGS I CAN STILL TASTE! IF YOU CAN HARVEST THREE BUCKETS FULL AND BRING 'EM TO ME I'D GIVE YOU FOUR POTIONS OF YOUR CHOICE! AND I'LL THROW IN THE 'BIG' POTION FREE OF CHARGE! SHOULD BE ABLE TO FIND 'EM IN A THICKET 55 MILES SOUTHEAST OF THE TRADE POST." He yells and you begin to suspect the volume may be due to his hardness of hearing.
Was this old man...coming onto Brental? And did he think that he and Brental were close in age? Brental knows that his hair is white (given his heritage), but he still thinks that he looks young. Still, he smiles genuinely at Bokken's shouting and gesticulating, suppressing a chuckle. Some of the older druids that Brental had met at the Moot of Ages had similarly diminished senses, and many had creative ways of adapting, from the mundane to the magical. Manual languages, private communication with their animal companions, horns to amplify sounds, potions to restore senses lost, spells to resist the effects of aging or provide a new sense--Brental had seen it all (with mixed success).
For that matter, sometimes it was just an unreasonable amount of buildup within the ear that could be removed with a little effort. Brental almost offers to take a look in the man's ears before thinking better of it.
The confusion of reagent and regent doesn't surprise Brental as the conversation continues. After Bokken winds himself down, Brental clarifies, taking the time to ensure that Bokken can see his lips as he talks, slowing down his speech, and exaggerating the pitch differences in his syllables. He increases his volume a tad, but doesn't shout.
"Thank you, but I meant re--gent. Like cold iron, sulfur, ginger, magnesium, quicksilver--that sort of stuff. We'll pay."
In his communion with nature that morning, following some discussion with Meneas, Brental had gained some insight into how to bring out some of the potential in the knight's weapons. Brental had no facility with crafting like Lina, but he could use a large amount of materials similar to what wizards, magi, and alchemists carried around to enact effective transformations. Brental brings out a large bag of gold to show the approximate value of what he's looking for.
"We can look for your fangberries as well. Are there any dangers in the thicket?"
Despite herself, Lina finds herself warming to the strange hermit’s antics. Whatever else he may be, he certainly seems to be purely himself, and she can sympathize with his desire not to let any senses slip away for as long as he can.
Besides, picking berries? Easy as pie, she thinks, Bokken’s culinary conundrum affecting the simile that springs to mind.
“YOU HAVE A BARGAIN, SIR!” she offers, raising her voice enough to make herself heard, she hopes. “WE’LL BRING YOU SOME FANGBERRIES AS SOON AS WE CAN.”
At least, she hopes it will be that simple, though Brental's follow-up question reminds her that it might not be. With better luck than the adventurers have had in the past few days, the bushes won't be infested with - oh, who knows - beetles, maybe, after the other vermin they've encountered recently.
Bokken squints at Brental and shouts sending spittle scattering across the druid's face. "WHY DIDNCHA SAY SO EARLIER?! I GOTS ME SOME REAGENTS FOR DAYS! OLEG, THE BIG OAF, ALWAYS PURCHASES A MONTHLY SHIPMENT FOR ME OF WHAT I CAN'T DIG UP MYSELF HERE! WHACHA NEED EXACTLY?
He then licks his thin lips and smirks. "I CAN TASTE THE BERRIES ALREADY! AS FOR THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW... FANGBERRIES ARE CALLED SUCH FOR A REASON. THEY'LL BITE YA IF YER NOT CAREFUL!" The old man chuckles and makes a biting motion at Lina to emphasize his point.
|
|
Morof reels from the old apothecary, a little intimidated. He does not like much to be screamed at, and is relieved with the fact that the others managed to get into what looks like a conversation with him. He looks to the sides, as if he just saw something interesting, but he keeps listening.
Morof feels bad for the old man and wonders if he could make a plantation of these fangberries closer so that he'd always have some around.
Meneas flexes his fingers, sighing in exasperation. At least he's not fully deaf. How does he survive out here if he can't hear potential threats coming? I guess this isn't too far from the road... but it didn't look like many patrols made it to Oleg's before we got there...
At the mention of where to find the berries, the knight ponders for a moment. "That's back in the direction of Kressle's camp." Meneas says softly to Brental and the others, forgetting that of those present only he, Veil, and Brental had been there. "Deeper into the Greenbelt than we've ever gone before. Probably around where we met my esteemed cousin."
Also you estimate that the fangberries would be directly southwest of the rickety bridge you meet Vincent on.
Brental writes down a list of reagents he needs, totaling about 600 gold worth when all is said and done, and gives that to Bokken.
Once the exchange has been made, Brental asks Meneas for his sword and lance, and then excuses himself to go find a good workspace. He begins creating a series of symbols using the materials, based on impressions gathered through his communion that morning. He occasionally stops and examines the progress, meditating for a few moments before returning to the rather intricate work. After about an hour, he places the cold iron Aldori dueling sword in the center. The druid takes a deep breath and begins chanting while his hands dance above the sword. Some of the reagents ignite immediately and begin to burn, coursing across the symbols from five symmetrical directions. As they burn, the sword glows and begins to change. It maintains its fundamental shape, but...
After this, Brental repeats the process with the lance. It all takes about two hours, but he happily hands Meneas his new and improved weapons when all is finished.
|
|
Morof comments shyly "Mr. Bokken, sir, I think I can help you and make a plantation of fangberries close by. We'd still need to collect some, though, but if you want, I can spend a few days making a vineyard when we get back, then you'd always have some around." He stays silent, hoping he didn't say anything to set the old man off.
Bokken turns to Morof, his eyes wide and wild as he shouts, "FANTASHTIC!! IF YOU MAKE THAT I'LL GIVE YOU 25 PERCENT OFF MY POTIONS FOR LIFE! WHICH, IN MY CASE, MIGHT ONLY BE A FEW MORE MONTHS HEHE!"
He pauses blinking each eye independently before explaining in a yelp. "BECAUSE I'M OLD!"
“BYE-BYE, MASTER BOKKEN!” Lina beams, waving her farewell energetically once the group’s business with the hermit is done for the moment. “WE’LL BE BACK BEFORE YOU NEED TO WORRY ABOUT GETTING MUCH MORE SUPERANNUATED, BERRIES AND CUTTINGS IN TOW!’
She vaults easily back into the saddle and gently nudges her mount into motion. Fangberries, ha? I wonder…
She’ll have to ask Brental later, if only to get a better sense of the possibilities, but it’s hard to get the idea of a hedge that bites out of her head now. Would it be completely irresponsible to look into suitable spells? It’s not as if she’s actually considering making the plants ambulatory, merely animate…
As they ride away, Meneas posits an idea to his fellows. "I wonder if he's as deaf as he seems. Being deaf would seem to be quite dangerous in this area... I wonder how he circumvents that danger if he isn't playing it up for outsiders." A chuckle emerges from within the hood. "But then, I don't doubt he has some sort of defenses, even if we didn't see them."
Brental notices the momentary hesitation that Morof offers when considering whether to include himself in their goals. He's pleased that he settles on we.
"It takes all sorts. This area is wild, and I'm glad that it residents are mostly able to live here peacefully. If we're able to set up a fangberry vineyard for Bokken, we may help him assess his defenses as well, if he desires. Perhaps Jhod Kavken might be able to do something about his hearing, for that matter."
Considering the fangberries again for a moment, Brental shares what he knows with the group. "I haven't tasted these berries before, but I know their reputation. I don't know whether the fangs refer more to the thorns that grow with them or the bugs known to feast on them. Either way, harvesting them will require a steady hand. Something to keep in mind in a few days when we get to the other side of the river."
The party progresses on with limited issues as the day goes on. It only takes a few hours to arrive at their next destination which they find with relative ease due to Oleg's directions earlier.
When they arrive at the Shrike River Crossing they see all that sadly remains of Davik Nettle's enterprise. A thick, sagging rope still hangs across the river, all that remains of the bridge that once spanned it. A signpost at either end of the ruined bridge reads “Nettles’ Crossing—5 coppers—ring bell for service.” A rusty bell hangs by each sign. On the south bank of the river, the crumbled remains of a burnt-down wooden building are slowly being overgrown by encroaching vegetation.
|
|
Morof recalls the story of the burning of this man's house and wonders what parts are true and which are the folk's embellishments. He suddenly wonders and asks the others "What are we to do here? Are we to find out what really happened?" He resists the urge to ring the bell. It's what he would do if he were younger, but he doesn't want to bother this man's spirit if it's still wondering around here.
Out of sheer awkwardness, he begins looking at the floor searching for anything out of the ordinary.
As they ride on, Brental keeps looking up and down as he notes important bits of vegetation and noteworthy landmarks. It's a process he's grown comfortable with as they've explored over the last week and a half. He almost doesn't notice as they come upon the bridge--or what remains of it.
"Retrocognition is not something I am particularly well-versed in, but we can certainly do our own investigation. I'll make sure that the crossing is safer for the rest of you."
Brental retrieves his own rope, which he trusts much more than this poor fixture, and begins setting up a contraption to use to cross a bit more safely. Of course, without being able to reach the other side of the river until he actually gets there, this rope is more of an insurance policy against plunging into the brackish depths below.
Looping the rope around his waist, Brental directs his comrades to hold the rope taut and release some give as he traverses the rope. Although he hammered the pitons into the most secure surface he could find on this bank, nothing is quite as secure as three people and two strong animals who will be able to support his weight and pull him up should the worst happen.
As he prepares to climb, Brental idly fishes in his belt pouch and pulls out five copper pieces, and then rings the bell for good measure.
Meneas dismounts from Veil and wanders over to the bell, examining it himself, before pulling out a handful of copper and dropping it near the bell. "It only seems polite to do this." He says aloud. "Seeing as Veil would probably cost extra."
Morof takes note of several dozen burnt out arrows stuck in the ground here and there. Most likely thee are the remains of the bandit's attack on the home and Davik as the trail of arrows seems to lead from the ashen remains of the home up to the point where the bridge once stood.
He also notes the remains of the rope bridge in a tangled mess not far downriver, stuck on several rocks protruding from the water. It remains still until Brental rings the bell. As the ringing echoes through the air a sodden hand rises up from the tangled mass and not long after a human corpse pulls itself free of the mess and begins making its way directly towards the party. In its rotting, putrescent hand it clutches a dripping ranseur as it's lipless maw snaps open and shut.
A full half of the creature's stomach is simply missing and you can see it trailing its insides behind it as Brental begins making his way across the river.
Meneas' hand drops to his sword's hilt, and though he doesn't draw it, he does step back towards Veil. "Davik Mettle?" He calls out, a warning to Brental and a question to the dead thing. Hopefully the tales about resentful dead aren't totally wrong. We could have a useful... ally, I suppose, against the Stag Lord.
Brental does not make it far across before he spots the undead approaching. Given the proximity, Brental's first thought is that this could be Davik himself. Poor creature, to be in this position. But was he aware? Intelligent? Aggressive? And what did he want?
Brental's skin crawls. His superiors had impressed upon him the violation upon the natural order that these creatures posed. A stain. And yet Brental was uncertain of this dogma. He had heard that some undead arose spontaneously, and that in some regions people specifically sought this state of being. Harsh judgement, the pronouncement of utter destruction on all such beings, was an area in which Brental had found a deviation from some of his kin. If anything, he felt pity for the undead. He had learned quickly not to express this opinion widely.
As the creature approaches, Brental calmly calls back to the others. "Pull me back." Then he begins to reverse course. If this creature intended ill, Brental did not want to be separated from the others, much less dangling precariously above a river.
"If you are Davik, we are prepared to pay for proper passage. But we would also hear your story, and know what it is you need."
The corpse slowly approaches the group, trotting with a surety in his step. Soon he is before the party though he does not raise his ranseur fortunately. Unfortunately he does absolutely reek however.
After a minute the creature speaks, water spilling to the ground as he does. "Not so long ago I ran a simple but profitable toll bridge across this narrow reach of the Shrike River. I made no judgments on those who chose to use my bridge—as long as they had the coin, be they bandit or trapper, I would allow them to cross the Shrike. As this crossing was the only significant one to be had over the Shrike in the Kamelands, I made a fair amount of money for my hard work.
Unfortunately, not long after I finally made enough to recoup the cost of building the rope bridge, the bandit king known as the Stag Lord rose to power. Soon the Stag Lord paid a visit to my crossing and informed me that not only would the men bearing his badge be granted free passage over the bridge, but that I would pay the Stag Lord two-thirds of my monthly take in return for the Stag Lord’s 'protection.'
I not only refused the Stag Lord’s offer, but ran the bandit and his men off downriver with the aid of my three loyal hounds.
After the incident, I decided to rewarded myself with a meal of fresh fish and went to bed early.
Later, in the dead of night, the bandits returned. They surrounded my home and lit it on fire with flaming arrows. I woke in terror as my dogs’ frantic barking alerted me, but as I stumbled out of my burning home and fled for my bridge, the bandits awaited me. More flaming arrows rained down, killing my precious hounds and wounding me in the gut. With my nightshirt aflame, I tumbled down the path toward the river. I then doused myself with water and clambered up to the bridge and tried to escape to the north shore. Unfortunately, the bandits had followed, and as I passed the midpoint on my bridge, the Stag Lord cut one of the ropes that held my bridge intact. My bridge immediately collapsed, plunging me screaming into the deep, icy water.
I remember nothing more... short of waking here to find some of the Stag Lord's men attempting to rebuild my bridge... I killed all of them but it is not enough... It will never be enough until the Stag Lord is dead... until I see his corpse in my river."
The zombie growls and lifts his ranseur up. "So shall you be delivering his corpse to me? Or shall you be joining me here at my crossing?"
Lina feels her skin crawl at the unearthly sight of the unquiet dead, rather glad – though she would hardly care to admit it – that she wasn’t the one to ring the bell. She reassures herself that she has a polearm of her own resting in the saddle of her mount, though it seems that Davik’s revenant is not immediately intent on violence, which is somewhat cheering.
“I am sorry for the terrible injustice that has been done to you,” she says solemnly to the grim figure, following Brental’s lead. “We have been charged already by the swordlords of Restov to wreak justice upon the Stag Lord. They will want a token to be sure that the deed is done, but I am sure that we will be able to show you proof as well by the time our task is complete. I can only hope that that will give you a measure of peace.”
"Goooood." the revanent groans. "Then hurry up and do it... You don't want me getting impatient... I can be quite the nightmare."
"Are you able to aid us in any way?" Meneas inquires, swiftly moving to pull Brental back to shore. "Or willing, I suppose."
After a moment, he adds. "And would you be willing to let us cross?" Or do we have to find another ford?
Brental listens to Nettles' story intently. A reasonable man who had met a tragic end--or this case, a tragic interruption. Brental would seek to bring this man peace. Everything that he has heard about the Stag Lord paints him as the worst kind of person.
"We will," he says with a nod.
Brental looks at the position of the sun in the sky.
"I don't know if we have time to do much further exploration this day, or if it will be better to make camp and prepare for a fruitful day tomorrow. We have several missions now."